


Busmen's Holiday

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [221]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good times at the Luke Convention Center.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busmen's Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3  
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> To Carol
> 
> References:  
> [The Milestone Banquet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4312131)  
> [Charming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843609)  
> [Green](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1397446)

This was getting ridiculous. Here it was, right in the middle of March, and Alder Run was still in the deep freeze. Ian had finally convinced Quinn to do something about it. So here they were, in the natural habitat of Lukensian Skyhawks.

"Home, sweet home." Quinn dropped his duffel on the bed. "At least for a night," he added with a wink.

He and Ian had just checked into the Luke Convention Center on a frozen Sunday evening the week before spring break. Upstate New York had been pounded with more snow than a blizzard on Hoth, and Luke had been forced to close for too many snow days already. After watching the local forecasters predict another round of winter storms, Ian had dug out his faculty discount card from his wallet, while reminding Quinn that the Center was a few minutes' walk away from their classrooms, rather than a ten-mile drive over icy roads. He'd made reservations for that night without further ado, feeling lucky that the Center hadn't been all booked up with such short notice.

At the start of the semester, Quinn had convinced Ian to slate both of their midterm exams for this Monday, gambling that the weather would improve when it was all but kissing springtime. As Quinn now knew, his Jedi-like prescience must have taken the day off when he'd made that scheduling decision. "A Jedi should know better than to gamble," he thought ruefully, but at least Ian had figured out the perfect way around it.

They had been at the Convention Center before, though never for an overnight stay. Quinn fondly remembered celebrating his 10th anniversary of teaching at Luke with a banquet there, back in 2010. Taking Ian as his date had made the celebration all the merrier, and they'd been assigned to a table of mathematicians, a couple of whom had become friends through the years.

Their guest room was on the second floor, and Ian had sweet-talked the woman at the reception desk into giving them a room with a couch, as well as easy chairs. The king-sized bed still dominated, though, and fortunately for them, so did a big desk. After all, they still had to proofread their exams sometime before giving them tomorrow.

When they'd hung up their jackets and swirled scarves around them, they stowed their gloves in the pockets. They exchanged their Williamsburg boots for sneakers they'd brought in their duffel bags. Ian turned up the heat, while Quinn opened the curtains to see the view. Taton Hall was shining in the distance, its night lights on like a beacon in the snow.

They both had first-period classes, starting Monday morning at 8, so Quinn requested a wake-up call at 7. Meanwhile, Ian grabbed extra blankets from the closet and tossed them onto the bed.

Ian grinned as he said, "We're already seeing the perks from our stay. We don't have to wake up at bloody six o'clock in the morning now. That extra hour of sleep we're gonna get is pure gold."

Quinn snagged him in a hug, relishing the feel of Ian's enthusiasm vibrating off of him. "'Tis true, laddie mine."

Ian stood on his tiptoes to kiss Quinn's nose. "You know that I've always hated getting up for the day when it's dark outside."

Quinn hummed his approval of the kiss. "Pretty soon you won't have to; we're gaining daylight fast now."

Ian's stomach chose that moment to join the chorus, so Quinn had practical considerations in mind with his following suggestion. "It's almost 9 o'clock already. Let's head out to dinner before the Nest closes for the night."

They checked that they had their key cards and wallets, then strolled over to The Skyhawks' Nest, the restaurant in the main atrium. A hostess, who they vaguely recognized as a graduate student in the linguistics program, seated them at a cozy booth near the fireplace. Both of them wore slacks in different shades of brown under the cream Aran sweaters -- Quinn's a cardigan and Ian's a pullover -- that Quinn's Aunt Kathleen sent them every few years. So they were warm as could be.

They studied the menu with interest, since the hostess had mentioned that it was seasonal and would only be available for the next couple of weeks. Ah, Welsh Rarebit was there; it had been a favorite of Ian's grandfather, and the Nest version featured a delectable modern mixture of Pete's Wicked Ale and Cheddar cheese. Quinn instantly decided to get it for them to split.

Ian had his eye on the steak and mushroom pot pie, since it sounded like the kind of rib-sticking food he craved in the wintertime. When the waiter came by with warm biscuits glistening with butter, they ordered both dishes, along with two mugs of hot mulled hard cider. They melted into the soft upholstery like the butter had into the biscuits and shared a smile of utter contentment. Ian had definitely made the right decision when he'd booked a reservation here at the Center.

"Feels like a vacation, even though we're here because of our classes tomorrow," said Ian as he clinked mugs with his herven.

Quinn's eyes crinkled. "'Tis a pleasure to see you so relaxed on a work night."

Ian beamed at him. "It's easy to relax with you," he said as he lounged against the cushions. "Especially since I've already prepared my exam for tomorrow."

Quinn had a gratified look on his face from both of Ian's comments. "So have I."

"How 'bout taking advantage of the facilities here, then?" Ian asked.

"Good idea, lad. There's an indoor swimming pool on one of the upper floors."

Ian grinned. "Maybe we'll make our wake-up call earlier after all and get in an early-morning swim."

The waiter brought over their Welsh Rarebit first, along with plenty of focaccia triangles, in a British/Italian twist on the French fondue. The rarebit was still bubbling from the oven; they had to blow on it before eating. Ian was careful to bank his own erotic fire when blowing; a young Lauren Bacall couldn't hold a candle to him, or blow it. Quinn could take only so much teasing in public, even after all of these years.

Quinn smiled at him in gratitude; he knew that his lad was thinking of him with each puff of air. "Delicious! The last time I've tasted a rarebit this good was in Williamsburg."

"Well, even the name lets you know it's rare," Ian teased. "And you've already put away more than a bit."

Quinn groaned on cue, then kept right on eating, Ian joining him happily.

"It's also a 'rare bit' of a date night with classes coming up tomorrow." As Mary Renault would say, Quinn was "keeping the party going" with his own quip, and Ian winked at him in approval.

Wordplay was not only the professors' stock in trade, it was also a delight for them. Even with all of their banter, they made short work of their appetizer. Just as they were finishing up, their entree arrived. The pot pie was even hotter than the rarebit had been, its heat trapped by a golden crust. The waiter brought two dinner plates over to make sharing easier.

Ever the gentleman, Quinn let Ian take his portion first. And ever the considerate husband, Ian took less than half, indulging his herven's hobbit-like appetite. The vegetables and sirloin tips were swimming in a sauce flavored with cabernet sauvignon and beef broth.

"Mmmmmm." After the first bite, Quinn hummed his appreciation. "This is much better than the chicken we had at the banquet."

"And definitely better than the leftover tuna casserole we were gonna have for dinner," Ian said with a grin.

They ate the pot pie with gusto, and when they'd pushed their plates away, the waiter cleared them and handed out dessert menus. One of Quinn's favorites was there -- warm apple cobbler with cinnamon ice cream -- so they ordered it, in addition to two cappuccinos. The next time the waiter came to the table, he brought with him an enormous bowl of baked apples in pastry, drizzled with ginger and nutmeg sauce.

"So what book have you chosen for your midterm in your George Eliot course?" Quinn asked, just before he took a spoonful of the cobbler.

"Bet you'll think I'm teasing you, as usual," Ian said.

"That's always my default assumption, my boy," drawled Quinn, careful to keep a straight face.

Ian said, "You promise not to roll your eyes at least?"

"As long as I can groan instead," Quinn said with a chuckle.

The gleam in Ian's eye as he answered was matched by Quinn's. "Okay, then. The exam is on 'Middlemarch'."

Since tomorrow was March 15th, all Quinn could do was laugh helplessly. When he could talk again, he followed up with, "Now that's thinking ahead, m'lad."

Ian beamed. "Thanks! I thought of it as I was preparing the syllabus, back in December. A couple of kids had your reaction when I told them the book they'd be analyzing."

"Those kids are lucky to have you," Quinn said. "You know how to make the driest literature fun for them."

They charged the meal to their hotel account, so there would be only one bill to pay when they checked out tomorrow before classes. Since the Convention Center hosted academic conferences and business meetings, it was set up with computer facilities and desk space. They decided to proofread their exams in one of the offices provided on the first floor, since it offered even more space than the desk in their room.

After barely catching the elevator, they walked down the corridor, thankful that the hotel had a non-smoking policy, like the rest of the university buildings. Ian put his key card in the slot to let them into their room. They grabbed their briefcases with the midterms and retraced their steps to the first floor, looking for the business wing of the hotel.

Even at 10 at night, it was hopping. The professors picked a large table a few feet away from a group of executives, who were studying a quarterly report. They started to proofread their midterms, with Ian finding and correcting a couple of typos, while Quinn's master copy was perfect. Ian used the Xerox machine to make copies of his updated pages, then they collated and stapled the exams. The whole process took a little bit over an hour.

Ian looked at his watch and said, "The Nest's bar is open until 1 a.m. Would you like a drink to celebrate putting our midterms to bed?"

"Sounds grand, lad." Tired eyes crinkled at Ian. "Let's take this lot up to our room and then head back to the Nest."

They did just that, pausing to use the facilities on the way out. The bar was just as hopping as the business wing. Television, rock music, and conversations competed for their attention.

"Work hard; play hard," Ian murmured as they walked in, looking for a table.

They finally found one far away from the bar, so it was a bit less noisy. It still hadn't been cleared, which explained its availability. A waitress came by to clean it and gave them drink menus. They both decided to order the "Luke SkyWalker" cocktail - a combination of Johnnie Walker Blue Label with coconut water and lime.

When the waitress brought their drinks, she also left a bowl of nuts for them to nibble on. Ian picked up the placard in the middle of the table; there was a picture of a leprechaun on it, along with specials for Saint Patrick's Day, just around the corner on Tuesday. It listed the usual green beer, corned beef sandwiches, and Shephard's Pie, but since the men had already eaten, they weren't in the mood for any of them. If not for their "Luke SkyWalker" cocktails, they'd probably have gotten mugs of Guinness Stout. Their drinks had come just in time to quench their thirst from eating salted peanuts and cashews.

Ian said, "Mmmmm, that's good," then took another sip. "I'm glad we tried something new today."

Quinn nodded. "Not to mention your clever idea of staying overnight at the Center. Much safer than chancing those icy roads."

"We should do this every winter," said Ian. "There's always at least a couple of days when it's almost impossible to drive in, but they don't cancel classes."

"Another good idea, laddie mine." Quinn raised his mug to Ian. "I quite like the idea of taking mini-vacations with you during the semester."

"Me, too. At least this is probably the last snowfall of the season." Ian chuckled. "Can't imagine too many snowflakes after Saint Patrick's Day."

"I daresay you're right, lad," said Quinn.

Ian popped a cashew into his mouth. "I'm glad we're going to Farrell's with our friends on Tuesday. They always have bangers and mash."

"'Twouldn't be St. Paddy's without it." Quinn's eyes twinkled merrily.

"And we can't celebrate the holiday properly without the little shamrock, either." Ian patted his right front pocket, the comfortable home of the tiny charm on his keychain when Ian was out and about.

After taking the last sip of his cocktail, Quinn licked his lips, smiling when he saw Ian's gaze linger on them.

"Time to go to bed," Ian said a bit huskily.

They added the drinks, along with a generous tip, to their tab, and used the facilities before walking to their room. Ian locked and bolted the door, then turned around into his husband's waiting arms. Quinn gave him a long, passionate kiss.

"Now that's what I've been waiting for," Ian whispered.

"I won't keep you waiting any longer, then." So saying, Quinn took off Ian's pullover and threw it unceremoniously over the desk chair.

Ian unbuttoned Quinn's cardigan, then aimed at his own sweater and scored a direct hit, as it landed right on top of it.

Quinn chuckled. "I love your competitive spirit, m'lad." He grabbed Ian for another hug, even better now with their cotton shirts rubbing into each other.

"This comes off now," said Ian, as he unbuttoned his herven's shirt. He kissed Quinn's chest every time he revealed another inch of skin.

"Our little holiday is getting better and better," Quinn murmured with delight. No slouch himself, he mirrored Ian's motions, though his big fingers were a bit less deft than his husband's.

This time when they hugged, it was skin to skin. They soaked up the contact, as if they had not made love for at least a week. Their hands roamed over needy flesh, with their mouths following in record time. A caress here; a love bite there; a tickling thumb to the belly button --they carried on a physical flirtation that echoed their earlier banter.

Quinn's licks quickly turned to suckles; Ian's nuzzles turned to kisses. They reached for each other's pants zippers at the same time, like Jedi mind-readers, as Quinn had called himself on Valentine's Day. Stepping out of their slacks, they kicked them to the wall, so they'd be out of the way overnight. Hard enough to navigate a strange hotel room in the dark; harder with self-made obstructions in their path.

Quinn had the presence of mind to turn the bed down to the sheets, in order to prevent a possible semen spill onto the comforter. Ian winked at Quinn from across the mattress and helped to fold the bedding down. He stood there by the bed, lightsaber-hot in just his boxer-briefs, basking in Quinn's ardent gaze. His magnificent bulge made sure Quinn was focusing on the here and now.

Ian vaulted onto the bed and held out his arms invitingly. Needless to say, Quinn accepted the invitation. He knelt between Ian's open legs and used this position to run his hands up and down his lad's thighs, feeling goosebumps form underneath his fingers. Each time, he let his thumbs inch closer to Ian's groin.

When Quinn's fingertips finally grazed his testicles, Ian gave out a heartfelt groan and Quinn felt like joining him. Here was his laddie, spread out in front of him like a sumptuous banquet ready to be tasted, course by succulent course. He lapped at the underwear pouch which held his prize, feeling Ian harden even further against his tongue.

Quinn tasted his pre-come, even through the cotton of the pouch and wanted some more. He eased Ian's cock through the opening, relishing its heat and plumpness. Ian cried out when he licked it for the first time that night with nary a piece of clothing in between tongue and flesh. By now, Quinn was almost as hard as he'd made Ian. He sucked that delicious erection, letting his mouth roam over every overheated inch of it. He resisted the temptation to still Ian's hips; instead, he encouraged Ian to fuck his mouth.

"That's it, laddie," Quinn growled, taking him in deep.

Ian's desperation grew exponentially when Quinn used his tongue to tease the hot spots that only he knew about: the underside of the base and the circle where the foreskin met the glans. Quinn lavished his attention on these until Ian was panting and quivering beneath him.

Ian came with a shout, and Quinn drank it all in with more gusto than he'd had when drinking his 'SkyWalker' cocktail earlier that night. Quinn petted him down while his breathing returned to normal and sweat cooled on super-heated skin.

When Quinn moved to get into a more comfortable position, Ian felt Quinn's cock brush against his leg. He gave Quinn a sultry smile and said, "What's your pleasure, ma gradh?"

Quinn looked up at him with love and hunger etched on his face. "Touch me, laddie," he said simply. He heaved himself up to Ian's side, so his husband could reach him easily.

Ian got onto his elbow and locked eyes with Quinn. He reached for Quinn's patient erection as eagerly as if he were still hard himself. Loving the feel of soft skin over tempered steel, he ran his hand from tip to root again and again, stopping along the way to treat Quinn's turn-ons to a bit of extra attention.

Ian knew that Quinn liked the feel of the calluses from his gymnastics practice gently scraping against his sensitive skin, so he made sure to stroke him with his thumb and the palm of his hand. This drove Quinn wild, much to Ian's satisfaction.

He crooned words of love into his herven's ear as his fingers glided over Quinn's cock. The sounds Quinn made in return would have gotten Ian going again, if he'd had the slightest oomph after his orgasm.

When Ian kissed him, Quinn came into his hand with a low moan. Ian barely had the energy to reach for a tissue on the nightstand but made himself clean Quinn thoroughly, so there would be no chafing in the morning.

Ian pulled up the comforter and snuggled into Quinn's side. "Good-night, love."

"Good-night, laddie," Quinn mumbled.

They went to sleep to the music of Quinn's yawn, that familiar sound making the hotel room seem like home.


End file.
